Mouthing Off
by The-Cursed-Daughter
Summary: It was then that Bakura realized that there was a wall behind him and a psychopath in front. Yami Marik/Bakura


_I completely blame Taemanaku and her drawing Papercut for this story. You can find her on DeviantArt._

_Instead of doing homework (surprise!), I decided to write some psychoshipping, because I'm just...good at procrastinating. Also, I've seen many different ways to write Marik, and I wanted to try it out. I was also in the mood for a witty, dialogue-y story, which explains the lack of smut/romance._

_Oh yeah, cyber-cookies to the first person to find the TAYGOS reference._

_**Warnings/Disclaimers: Swearing...and that's about it. Maybe some plot errors. YGO franchise belongs to whoever it belongs to, but the plot is mine. Also, Malik=hikari, Marik=yami.**_

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><p>"This is boring." Bakura leaned against the wall that he had conjured up, watching the sky—ceiling?—of the Shadow Realm swirl. "When I get my hands on Malik, I'm going to cut off all of his fingers."<p>

"Personally, I would leave him his ring fingers. Just for some variety."

Bakura watched, wary, as the shadows in front of him parted to reveal Marik like some kind of children's magic show. The spirit of the Ring arched an eyebrow. "What, no top hat?"

Marik gave him a what-shit-are-you-spouting-_now_ look—which, to be honest, wasn't much different than how he usually looked. "Nonsensical as ever, I see."

They appraised each other in silence for a few minutes—or perhaps hours, time wasn't exactly a factor in the Shadow Realm—before Bakura snorted. "The pharaoh got you too?"

"No." The Egyptian scowled. "Some force commandeered the blimp and it touched down on an island in the bumfuck-middle of the ocean. They've all been sucked into a game by a small child with ugly hair."

"So why aren't you there, terrorizing them?" Still bored, Bakura conjured a stool for himself.

"A door got in my way."

"And you decided to come visit me instead," Bakura drawled, "That's sweet. However, I'm in no mood for company, least of all _yours_." A door materialized to Marik's left. "I'm sure you can show yourself out."

The yami continued to study him, and Bakura struggled not to squirm under his gaze. It was like being stared at by a fish—Marik's eyes were cold and dead and he really didn't look like he gave much of a damn about anything. He also seemed to have the attention span of one, but Bakura didn't say that. He'd already encountered the Winged Dragon of Ra once, and wasn't keen on trying it again. The backs of his legs were going numb, so he shifted the stool under him into the posh armchair he'd seen in Pegasus's castle. Marik remained standing, still watching him, and it was beginning to tick Bakura off. He wasn't a specimen.

"You're good at that."

He almost missed that. "Good at what?"

Marik gestured vaguely at Bakura's armchair and wall. "Creating things here."

"I've had time to practice." Bakura shrugged. The corner of Marik's mouth curved up, and a jolt of cold shot down his spine before the seat under him vanished. He landed on his ass with an undignified thump and Marik was suddenly looming over him, a _lot_ closer than he had been a second ago. Bakura scrambled to his feet. "What the fuck is your problem?" The other man said nothing and the thief snarled. "Fuck you."

It was then that Bakura realized that there was a wall behind him and a psychopath in front.

He tried to squelch the wall out of existence, but under close examination, he realized it wasn't the wall that he summoned. He started to fling his arms up to shove Marik away and make a run for it, but his arms were pinned to the wall by—Bakura looked down—more wall. It had grown over his wrists while he was cursing out the man. "I should've figured you for a bondage fetish. All that leather should've been a giant tip-off." Marik was still silent, and Bakura sighed, aggravated. "Is this the part where you ravage me?"

Instead of answering, Marik reached into a pocket and pulled out a card—Bakura didn't need to see the Ancient Egyptian inscription to know which one it was. He flinched when Marik brought it up to his cheek and slowly slid it down. It didn't surprise Bakura that the card was sharp. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Watching you bleed."

Bakura rolled his eyes. "Fascinating, then?

The yami looked slightly amused, his eyes fixated on the blood sliding over the curve of Bakura's cheek. "More than you could ever know." He barely had time to snatch the card away when Bakura lunged forward, teeth snapping over the empty air where Marik's fingers had been.

"Get that thing away from me. I don't know where the fuck it's been."

"Whatever you say." Marik stepped back, shoving the card back into a small pocket stitched into the edge of his cloak—Bakura filed that knowledge away for later. Something rippled the sky—ceiling?—above them, and Bakura looked up as the wall receded from around his wrists. "The pharaoh and his cheerleaders are back," Marik told him. "It's show time."

Bakura frowned, starting to mouth off some more, but Marik shifted his weight forward and pressed Bakura back into the wall, their lips crushed together. He pulled away enough to say, "You talk too much," before cold trickled down Bakura's spine and Marik was gone.

The thief snorted, ignoring the spots on his back where the rough wall scratched him through his shirt when Marik pressed up against him. Rubbing his wrists, he dissolved the wall into liquid shadows and remembered the root of his woes.

"There'll be hell to pay when I get my hands on Malik."

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><p><em>Reviews would be wonderful.<em>

_Kit_


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